"And why is he trying to abduct you?"
Her back to him, she faced forward again and dropped her head, as if she were staring down at her hands.
"Come now, Calla. Tell me," he said gently, eyeing her lush flaxen curls, wanting to bury his hand in them and experience the softness of her.
He hadn't asked if he could call her Calla, but given their past intimacy, he thought 'twas not out of the question. And he certainly wanted her to call him Rebbie.
She turned her head, her profile clear. "Claybourne and my late husband often gambled. Stanbury lost everything he owned—which wasn't entailed—to him and grew deeply in debt before he died. I've been repaying Claybourne, but 'tis not enough."
"'Slud!" Rebbie shook his head, his heart sinking, just imagining the horrible situation she was entangled in. "What a bastard." Both her husband and Claybourne.
She nodded.
Hell. That had to mean Calla was penniless, then. That was why she was working as a companion to Elena. How could her husband leave her in such dire straits? Had he been daft? This Claybourne was evidently a piece of work, trying to abduct her because he'd won everything from her late husband. What an evil-hearted whoreson. He'd best not touch Calla again or Rebbie would slice him limb from limb. He couldn't risk riding back south with Calla. He couldn't fight Claybourne's garrison singlehandedly and still protect her.
Her feminine scent, a blend of roses and lavender, teased his nose. Damnation, but she was bewitching. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in. She would of a certainty think him mad. He would also love to smell the delicate skin of her neck, then kiss her there. Taste her. Hell. He almost growled the word.
"We'll ride northwest." Rebbie needed to distract himself from her allure and focus on how best to keep her safe.
"Where will we go?" she asked. Despite the dangerous situation, he found himself liking the sound of we coming from her lips. Was he daft? There was no we.
"I have a small castle deeper in the Highlands," he said. "Tummel Castle, about forty miles from here. I've only visited it three times. It has good curtain walls surrounding it and should be a safe place for you to stay until we can stop this Claybourne whoreson." If any guards were in residence, he would enlist their help, along with other men from the castle, to ride back to Draughon with him to gain the help of Lachlan and his men, along with his father's men.
"Can we reach it today?" Calla glanced around at Rebbie, enjoying the heat of him at her back.
"Nay, but we should arrive by tomorrow. Devil, here, is not only a large warhorse, he also has incredible endurance and speed."
"I feel terrible about causing such a problem." Truly she did. If she'd known what Claybourne had been planning, she would've never tried to meet Hobbs at the stable. What if Rebbie was injured because of her? She couldn't live with herself. And what had happened to Hobbs? She prayed Claybourne hadn't killed the kind man.
"'Tis nay problem," Rebbie murmured, his deep, husky voice and his breath tickling her ear.
Chills chased down her neck toward her breasts. And she found herself missing the strong arm he'd had wrapped around her waist earlier to hold her as they were riding. "You're too kind."
"Nay, I think not. 'Tis what any man should do to protect a woman in need, but as we know, not all men are honorable."
She nodded. "'Tis true." She didn't know Rebbie well, but judging by his actions today, he had to be the most honorable of men. "Those at Draughon will wonder where I've disappeared to."
"I'm certain. Maybe the coach driver or guard noticed the ruckus on the street. Once Lachlan hears of your disappearance from the village, he will no doubt send out search parties. If I had a garrison at my disposal, we'd fight them off, but that's not possible at the moment. 'Tis best that I hide you for your own protection."
"I thank you," Calla said.
What else could she say? She'd never imagined Rebbie would go to so much trouble to protect her from Claybourne. She'd known Claybourne was a knave, but she'd never truly believed he would try to rape or abduct her. He was evil to the core.
Rebbie leapt off the horse and helped her slide back onto his roll of blankets and clothing that was strapped behind his saddle so she could ride pillion. Then, he remounted in front of her. 'Twould be more comfortable for them both, he'd said.
He was right, of course, but she found she missed his strong and protective arms around her. She'd felt safer than she had in years.
As it was now, he took her gloved hands and pulled her arms around his waist. "Hold on, lass." He grinned around at her.
The way he'd said lass took her back more than six years into the past, to that inn where she'd experienced amazing, sensual things she'd never thought possible. "Aye." She didn't mind holding on at all. His waist was trim and firm, and his broad shoulders blocked her view of anything in front.
Every few minutes, she glanced behind them to make certain Claybourne hadn't caught up. Nay, for the most part, they were alone. A few times, she saw crofters in the distance, tending their crops and sheep.
Thankfully, the day grew clearer as the sun rose overhead and they rode deeper into the Highlands. The wild and forbidding mountains drew nearer with every moment that passed, and the scenery more majestic and picturesque, with the violet heather cloaking the hills. He'd said that he'd only visited this castle of his three times. How many castles did he own? Considering his horse and his title, he had to be wealthy. But, she well knew, a title alone did not guarantee wealth, especially when one had a gambling problem like her late husband.
She was thankful Rebbie hadn't questioned her further about the debt. 'Twas mortifying for her to admit her own husband had gambled her away during the heat of his wagering frenzy. Given his actions, Claybourne was determined to have her, rather than the money, even if it came to violence. She couldn't believe his gall, snatching her up in bright daylight where anyone could see him. Was the man mad?
When he'd carried her, screaming, into the stable, he had grabbed her in shocking and disgusting ways, and 'twas clear he would rape her if given the opportunity. She had one of Stanbury's old knives strapped to her calf, but she hadn't been able to get to it. And even if she had, she was unsure whether she could've used it effectively. She had never been forced to use a weapon before.
Thank God Rebbie had shown up when he did. Considering the skillful way he handled the sword and the horse at the same time, while also protecting her, he'd been a thrilling sight to behold. The belted plaid he wore only added to his air of untamed Highland warrior. And she found she didn't mind at all seeing his well-formed calves, strong knees, and when he sat in the saddle, part of his muscular thighs, too.
When she'd been sitting in front of him earlier, it had been all she could do to keep from dropping her hands to his thighs and feeling the dark hairs tickle her palms. A sensory memory came to her… his hair-roughened, hard thighs sliding between hers, spreading them. Her body quickened and excitement burned through her.
What in heaven's name was she doing, recalling such wicked memories? She was no wanton… well, at least normally she wasn't. But where Rebbie was concerned, she had a weakness for his touch.
She regretted drawing him into this danger, she would have to tell him. 'Twas never her intention to put anyone else's life in peril, certainly not Rebbie's.
He turned his head aside and asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Nay. I had a large breakfast." Though 'twas midafternoon, she truly was not hungry.
He grinned. "You're such a wee lady, I can't imagine you eating a large breakfast."
She couldn't help but smile in return. "Well, mayhap it wouldn't have been a large breakfast to you, since you're a great warrior."
He chuckled. "Great warrior, aye?" he asked doubtfully.
Warmth filled her and she wanted to snuggle closer to him. "Indeed. You've saved my life twice now." Three times, actually, but she wouldn't tell him about the first time, when he'd saved her life by getting
her with child.
"Well, I'm more than glad I was able to."
She had to force her arms not to embrace him tightly in venerated gratitude. Although she could thank him until she was blue in the face, he would never truly know how much she appreciated all he'd done.
"I brought no food with me," he said. "I was on my way to Draughon when I heard you scream. Once we stop for the night, I'll find us something to eat."
"Very well."
Where would they stop for the night? They had seen one tiny village, but he'd carefully avoided it, wishing to have no witnesses to tell Claybourne they'd passed this way. Would they come upon another village, or would they have to slumber outside under the stars?
Would they sleep close together or far apart? Feeling his taut muscular body beneath her hands now brought back memories of that night they'd shared years ago. No one had ever touched her or made love to her the way he had. She hadn't known women could experience carnal pleasures; her husband had certainly never given her any. His beddings had been more like lying beneath a rutting boar. He'd cared naught for her pleasure. In the dark, he had thrust into her for a minute or so, until he spilled his seed. Then, saying naught, he would roll off her, yank up his breeches and leave the room.
Rebbie, on the other hand, had seduced her with kisses until she was mindless and weak with the need for him. He'd looked into her soul with his fathomless eyes and made love to all of her, not just her body. She'd never imagined that she would ever welcome a man's invasion and beg him to take her. But she had. Some primitive part of her wallowed in the wicked joining of their bodies.
Heat and mortification rushed over her now, just as it had then. She couldn't believe she'd had the courage to lay her hand upon his on the newel post, or go up to his room when he'd invited her. She knew not herself in that moment, yet at the same time, she had never felt more like herself than when she'd been with Rebbie. Something about touching him, kissing him was natural. And, that night, she couldn't get enough.
When she'd had to leave him before dawn, it felt as if someone had ripped out a part of her. Tears had streamed down her face as she'd slipped down the stairs and out the inn's door, the cowl over her head, hiding her identity.
Back at their lodgings, she'd pretended sleep when Stanbury had come in an hour later, sprawled in the bed, face up, fully clothed, and started snoring like a swine. He'd smelled like a distillery had blown up all over him. After he'd fallen asleep, she'd unfastened his clothing as if he'd had his way with her while drunk. Lying beside him, she'd wished she could've been back in bed with the young, dark-haired man at the inn. Though she knew not his name, she felt she knew him down to his soul.
Chapter Seven
"There's the old castle ruin." Rebbie pointed through the gloaming. "I'm glad I remembered where it was."
Calla leaned around his shoulder to take a look at the ruin he spoke of.
The heather-colored clouds to the west spread violet-rose light over the land and the crumbling stone structure before them. 'Twas a fearsome and haunting sight—only half a castle, the lower portion. The windows and doors gaped dark, like hollowed-out eyes and a yawning mouth. The roof and most of the top had caved in or toppled to the grassy ground outside.
"Will we stay here?" She frowned, wondering how on earth this would be a good shelter.
"Aye, I prefer staying away from the villages because Claybourne may follow and get information from the people after we leave. If no one has seen us, 'twill be hard for him to find us."
That made sense, but she didn't see how this structure could provide any sort of protection, open to the sky as it was. Nor would it shield them from Claybourne if he showed up, for the curtain walls were mostly demolished.
At the ruin, he drew up, slid off the horse and helped her down. "Are you hungry now?" His slight grin made her stomach flutter, but 'twas not food she craved. She remembered him smiling many times that night, while they were making love and after, as if he couldn't contain his happiness. And it had been contagious. She had never felt such joy.
"Aye."
"I'll see if I can find a rabbit. But first, we need to start a fire." Taking the horse's bridle and offering her his arm, he led the way around the rubble where the stones had fallen down from the high walls, to the back of the castle ruin where the ground sloped downhill toward a forest. Now she understood; the ground floor of the castle was still intact. But the doors were all gone, of course.
"I'll scout around and see if any outlaws are camping out in the ruin or in the wood. Stay here with Devil. He'll protect you." Rebbie drew his sword from the scabbard.
"Oh." She hadn't considered other outlaws. "Have a care." She frowned, watching him slip inside the ruin. A minute later, he emerged from the far door. He nodded to her, then crept into the wood.
She glanced aside at Devil, noting his quiet stillness, perked ears and twitching nose. He watched the spot where Rebbie had disappeared into the wood. What a beautiful and amazing animal.
A few minutes later, Rebbie returned, walking briskly, his sword sheathed. "I didn't see a sign of anyone."
He went inside the ruin while she waited at the door. "How do you know this won't fall on us?" she asked.
"I checked it last year and 'twas fine."
The stone floor was littered with dirt and leaves. Overhead was a vaulted stone ceiling.
"I see no cracks in the ceiling. Vaults are generally very strong," he said, pushing at various stones in the wall. "It appears as solid as the day it was built."
She ventured into the dark room. An old stone sink sat beneath an open window. And through an archway, she spied an ancient bread oven and fire pit.
"The kitchen," she said.
"Aye. And the brewery." He motioned toward a bowl-shaped stone structure.
"Of course." She had spent much time in the kitchen when she'd been a young lass at home. Her mother had passed when she'd been very young—she could hardly remember her—and Calla had enjoyed spending time with the women servants in the kitchen.
"I didn't expect to be traveling this long and I have few supplies," Rebbie said, bypassing her. "I do have a flint, though, and can start a fire."
"I'm sorry I'm causing you so much trouble," she said.
"Nonsense." He grinned. "I love venturing into the wilds of Scotland sometimes. At least it isn't midwinter with the snow piling up and the wind blowing."
She nodded, remembering the recounting he'd given Lachlan of his and Dirk's travel through the northern Highlands last winter. Of course, he could never find out she'd eavesdropped on him.
Outside, Rebbie gathered some of the dead grass from under the clumps, and a few fallen twigs and piled them into the fire-pit in the center of the kitchen floor. Deciding to help him, she removed her good gloves so as not to ruin them; she couldn't afford to buy more. She helped him while Devil munched grass nearby.
"Do you think Claybourne will find us here?" she asked.
"We lost him a good ways back, so hopefully he won't ken which way we've gone. But if he does show up during the night, Devil will alert us."
She nodded, unsure if she would be able to sleep for the worry.
"I'll go into the forest and find some fallen limbs," Rebbie said. "Will you be all right here with Devil guarding you?"
"Nay, I'll help."
He quirked a dark brow. "In truth? You're not above menial labor?" he asked in a dry tone.
She grinned. "Of course not. I used to help in the castle's kitchen when I was a young lass. I learned how to build fires and cook."
"I'm impressed."
"What about you? An earl who does menial labor?"
He let loose a short chuckle and started forward. "That's easy. I just pretend like I'm not an earl most of the time."
Perplexed, she frowned and followed, watching his kilt sway in the breeze as he walked. His calves above his boots looked hard with muscle and were dusted with dark hair. "Why on earth would you pretend such a thing?"
Turning back, he said. "I enjoy freedom more than most anything."
"Freedom." She nodded. Somehow she'd known that about him. "Sounds wonderful. Something I've rarely experienced."
"Stay there, lad," he told the horse.
Turning, she saw that Devil had been following them toward the wood. But at Rebbie's words, the horse halted at the edge of the trees and resumed picking the fresh green grass.
"He's such an intelligent horse," Calla said.
"That he is. Sometimes I think he understands every word I say. 'Tis a bit eerie at times."
Must be wonderful owning such an impressive animal. She'd had a mare she enjoyed riding, but had to sell her, along with the rest of the horses and coaches, once the debts piled up. She couldn't believe how much they'd lost. But she didn't care about the material possessions so much, or even her horse. 'Twas having her son by her side every day, along with the safety and security, she missed most.
She didn't mind putting herself in danger as long as wee Jamie was safe. Stanbury's sister would coddle the lad and provide for him. However, the woman didn't care one whit about Calla, had always thought her a gold-digging strumpet. Calla would've never asked for her and her husband's charity for herself. She would much rather work for a living than be under that woman's roof with her disapproving eye. But they would protect Jamie with their very lives because of her late husband. They knew how much he'd wanted a son and heir.
Calla walked beside Rebbie through the wood, damp leaves softening their footsteps. She glanced up at the trees, making sure no dead ones would fall on her. Would she ever feel safe in the forest again after that tree had almost crushed her?
"Do you ever crave it?" he asked. "Freedom."
"Aye. Of course. But 'tis not such an easy thing for a woman to acquire." She hadn't experienced freedom since she was a young lass, and even then, freedom had restrictions.
"I ken it." He picked up a stick.
She loaded the fallen deadwood into her arms. When they both held all they could carry, they headed back toward the ruin, Rebbie's load far larger than her own.
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